Actions

Work Header

It's On Like Donkey Kong

Work Text:

“Help me.”

No sooner did the words leave the angel's lips than Dean had put his gun away, slipping it into the back of his pants. He bent to slide an arm under the injured Castiel who had appeared in the bunker as suddenly as he always did, except this time he was horizontal and seemed to be badly hurt.

“Cas?” Dean said. “Help me get him up, Sam.”

Castiel's shirt was a piece of Swiss cheese, pierced with a dozen stab wounds or more. Dean could feel more rips in the back of the fabric where his arm had darted under the ever-present trench coat to get a firmer grip on the angel.

“Who the hell did this to you?” Dean asked as the three of them stumbled towards the bedrooms, Cas draped between the two Winchesters.

Dean wasn't sure Cas was even fully conscious, so he didn't really expect an answer, but he also couldn't say he was surprised when Cas mumbled, “Hannah.”

“I never liked that bitch.”

They shuffled down the corridor beyond the kitchen, stopping to give Cas a second to catch his breath. Dean could see his eyes were red-ringed, bloodshot. He looked like he'd been on a month-long bender and he was trembling like a chained animal straining at the leash.

“There were others, but it was she who ordered it,” Castiel admitted.

“I'll kill the bitch,” Dean said, seething, and Castiel showed the first sign of being himself, a barely there smile, and said, “It's done.”

“Good.” Dean squeezed Cas's shoulder. “Let's get you settled so your angel mojo can kick in, and get to healing you.”

“I'll be fine,” Cas said, doing his best to stand on his own, although Dean could see it took a toll on the angel. “I just need to rest.”

“Let's put him in my room, Sam,” Dean said, ignoring the raised eyebrow from his brother. “I'm not sleeping anytime soon, and it'll be more comfortable than whatever's in that spare room.”

“If you say so,” Sam said, but the grin on his face didn't disappear, even when Dean gave him his patented glare.

They got Castiel into Dean's room, out of his trench coat and shoes, and laid out on Dean's bed. The cuts in Cas's clothes were even more obvious now, and Dean felt another wave of anger hit him. If Cas were an ordinary man, he would've been dead. The thought was unsettling, and Dean tried to push it out of his mind. Cas was here and he was going to be fine. Dean would make sure of it.

“I'll stay with him,” Dean said to Sam once Castiel was lying down, his breathing even as he slipped into unconsciousness again.

“You sure? I mean, I can—”

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “I'll keep an eye on him. He's watched over me enough times. Seems like I should return the favor, you know?”

“Well, he is your angel,” Sam said, ducking the swat Dean aimed at his head.

“He's not my angel. What does that even mean, anyway?”

“That profound bond you two share? Jesus, Dean, you carried the guy's trench coat around for most of a year like some kind of letterman jacket.”

“I thought he was dead,” Dean said in a harsh whisper, pulling Sam into the hallway. He didn't want to wake Cas up.

“No, you thought he was coming back,” Sam said. “You had faith, Dean. You've always had faith in Cas, just like he's always had faith in you, and it's gotten the two of you through a lot of rough times.”

“Yeah, what's your point?”

Sam clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Neither of you is dead. Maybe it's time you did something about that enormous man-crush you have on each other.”

Dean made a face. “I don't have—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go away,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Just go.”

Sam went, grinning from ear to ear, and Dean sighed, pulling the chair out from the desk and settling beside the bed. There was still something wrong with the angel—something in the bloodshot eyes and the tension radiating from him even in sleep. Dean didn't know what it meant, but he wanted to be close if Cas needed him. He sat and watched the rise and fall of Cas's chest, prepared to wait all night if he had to.

***

Slowly, Dean came to the realization that someone was watching him. He stopped drumming out the solo from “Black Dog” and looked up to catch Castiel's blue eyes. They were still pinkish around the edges, but the angel looked better than he had when they found him. Yeah, he looked a hell of a lot better, and it made Dean smile.

“How you feelin', Cas?” Dean passed over a fresh bottle of water and watched as the angel gulped it down as if he'd been dying of thirst. He looked away when he realized he was staring at the way Cas's Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“Better now,” Castiel said, his voice like gravel. He cleared his throat. “Still ... not right, though. Rowena's spell.” Cas closed his eyes momentarily. “I feel this compulsion to lash out, to hurt, and it's taking a lot to remain in control. I don't want to hurt you.”

Cas's voice was low and guttural, and Dean could tell what Castiel wasn't saying. He could lose control of this thing he was trying so hard to keep at bay, whatever Rowena had cursed him with. Dean felt the need to reassure him.

“You won't hurt me,” he said, confident, and if some of that was false bravado, Cas didn't need to know, but his particular scowl said he did anyway.

“I've hurt you many times,” Castiel said bitterly, looking away, and Dean stopped himself just shy of reaching out and turning Cas's face back towards him. He took a deep breath.

“I've hurt you too. Right here in this bunker even.”

Dean still felt bad about that fight. He'd been so out of control, the Mark of Cain inciting him to actions he'd like to think he never would have or could have committed if he'd been in his right mind.

“We've both done things we regret, Cas. Let's leave it at that,” Dean said, glad when Cas met his eyes and nodded, their gazes locking on each other as so often happened, and Dean felt that familiar mix of heat and intensity flow through him. He kept his breathing steady, aware that Cas could probably hear his sky-rocketing pulse, the uptick of his beating heart.

Suddenly Cas surged up from the bed and kissed him. It surprised the hell out of Dean, the hand gripping hard at the back of his head, those lips unexpectedly on his.

He pulled back only a second, and Cas was there in the bloodshot eyes, still bluer than the freakin' sky, and there was something else too—something broken and pleading, something Dean was utterly helpless against, and Dean said, “Yeah, yeah, okay,” then he was with the program, kissing back, hands reaching out and tangling in Cas's tattered shirt.

“Dean,” Cas started to say, but Dean didn't really care what came next, and if it was “stop” or an apology, he didn't want to hear it. He covered Cas's lips with his own, and kissed him hard. There was a half-second of hesitation where Dean was certain Cas was going to push him away, and then Dean found himself being grabbed and pulled forward onto the bed with a degree of force he'd never had to deal with before. At least not without being in a fight.

“Okay, tiger,” Dean murmured, and he knew part of it was the spell, part of this wasn't Cas, but damn, that power was all Cas, and maybe it had made him want Dean, or maybe it had just made his control slip enough to act on it. Either way Dean didn't care because he'd wanted this longer than he cared to admit. Now he had it, all that strength and power meeting him kiss for kiss, tongue battling against his own, pushy and dominant, and damned if Dean didn't like it. Yeah, he liked it alright.

Dean pulled his black t-shirt over his head, pleased at the growl it elicited from Cas. Castiel's shirt disappeared in a rain of buttons, and Dean dragged his nails down Cas's bare shoulder blades because that fucking deserved some kind of reward.

“That was hot,” Dean managed to blurt out before he had a handful of angel on his feet and pushing Dean back towards the wall. He let himself be pushed, although one hand strayed to gently touch the edge of a ragged wound. It had started to heal, but the cuts were still ugly, more so because this was Cas, and he shouldn't have to suffer like the rest of them. He was supposed to be above such things as blood and pain.

“I'm fine,” Castiel said, as if reading Dean's mind, and moved in close enough to put his hands on Dean's hips, pulling him in tight. Dean could feel Cas hard against him. It sent a shudder through him.

When Dean had pictured this—and yeah, he was man enough to admit he'd thought about it. A lot—it always happened one of two ways. Either it was tentative, slow, both of them a little shy, and then Dean would take the lead and give Castiel his first experience. Of course, he'd missed that boat when April the Reaper got to him, but Dean supposed it wouldn't be their lives if someone didn't sleep with them and then try to kill them. Or, it was effortless, as easy as the warm way Cas would smile at him, or Dean would slip his arm around Cas's shoulders when it was just the two of them sharing a moment. They would be laughing and Dean wouldn't be able to resist that smile any longer, he'd have to kiss him and Cas would kiss him back, as if it was always meant to be that way, and life would go on being good and happy.

Dean figured real life was way too messy for either of those things to ever come true, but he'd kept them anyway—his secret fantasies. He had never thought it would be like this, though. Cas making the first move, and Dean hadn't hesitated, not really, so now here they were, Dean with his back against his bedroom wall, bare chest to bare chest, and his hands running gently over Cas's torn skin, angry and at the same time ridiculously happy the angel was alive.

“I feel like I'm coming out of my skin,” Cas said quietly, and Dean almost stopped touching him then, aware how Cas was practically vibrating.

“Maybe we should—”

“No.” Cas shook his head, looking Dean in the eye. “I don't want to stop.” He drew a hand down the length of Dean's bare chest. “I really don't want to stop. I've wanted this—”

That was enough for Dean. He grabbed the front of Cas's trousers and reeled him in like a fish on a hook. He appreciated that he didn't even need to bend his head to catch Cas's mouth in a teasing kiss. A hint of tongue, and Cas groaned, chasing Dean's mouth until he caught it again and kissed him deeply. Dean could do this all day, and he didn't examine that thought too closely, but tucked it away for another time when maybe they'd have more time than they did now.

Dean got the feeling some of that energy in Cas that was itching to come out was driving this, but lust was better than violence, and Cas admitting he wanted this was enough for Dean to be completely on-board. Cas knew him better than anyone, even Sam, and Cas had to know Dean wouldn't do this if he didn't want to. So, his big secret apparently wasn't much of a secret anymore.

Cas's hips pushed against Dean's until Dean shifted a leg between Cas's thighs, and there, Cas was moaning in earnest now and Dean didn't have the heart to tell him to be quiet. Dean kissed him as expertly as he knew how, deep and with tongue, teasing only enough to get Cas panting heavily. He was rock hard against Dean's thigh, frantically humping, and Dean helped even out his rhythm with firm hands on his hips, low whispers in Cas's ear.

“Do you have any idea how fucking unbelievable you are? How amazing? I've wanted you—this—since that day in the park where you appeared and we talked. You had doubts, and the funny thing is, I didn't. Not about you.”

Cas groaned and bucked against Dean's thigh, coming and coming, his body shaking like an earthquake. Dean wrapped both arms around him and held him firmly against his chest. Yeah, Cas was something else.

“Dean,” Cas whispered into Dean's chest, peppering his neck, the side of his face, with tired kisses.

“It's okay. We don't have to—”

Dean's words cut off with a choking groan when Castiel shoved a hand inexpertly down the front of Dean's pants.

“Let me touch you,” Cas said, obviously back with the program, yanking at the button and zipper of Dean's jeans with his free hand, and Dean couldn't do much but tip his head back and let him. Cas kissed Dean's exposed neck, left tiny stinging bites with his teeth, and finally bit down hard at the junction of Dean's neck and shoulder.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said, his body turning into a live wire and pushing hard against Cas's broad hand. Pants and underwear were shoved down and mostly out of the way, tangling around Dean's ankles. The wall was cold against Dean's back, but he really didn't care because Cas's hand was warm and working up and down his dick in ragged strokes. Dean felt short of breath, unsteady as if he couldn't quite keep up with every sensation, and it was clear Cas wanted everything all at once because his hands seemed to be everywhere, his mouth switching from gentle kissing to biting with barely a moment between.

It was fast and rough. Castiel all push and shove, his mouth hot and hungry, and Dean was hard-pressed to keep up with the angel's greediness, but he was trying. It hadn't been like this with someone in longer than he could remember, desire being something he realized he'd been keeping on the back burner, not really letting himself reach a boiling point. He'd been going through the motions up till now, but something in Cas's raw need spoke to his very soul, and Dean couldn't help but give back with everything he had.

It was about the time Cas dropped to his knees in front of Dean that the bookshelf came off the wall. Dean had been reaching for something, anything, to keep himself from grabbing Cas's head in both hands and fucking that beautiful mouth. He wanted Cas to set his own pace, and holy fuck, but his pace was fast and dirty with enough wet sounds that Dean was about to go out of his mind. His hand scrabbled on the brick wall for something to hold, and when he hit the bookshelf, he grabbed the edge of the wood, trying not to think too hard about symbolism and his weird-ass life.

His other hand was buried in Cas's hair, and Dean had closed his eyes because if he looked, if he looked down for one instant and saw Cas on his knees, sucking him, he was going to lose it, and he didn't want that. Not yet. So he tried to think of something else, anything else, to hang on a little longer, but when Cas shoved his thighs apart to rub Dean's balls, it was over. The shelf in his hand went flying, along with all its contents, and if Sam hadn't heard the wanton groans, he'd certainly have heard the bookshelf coming down.

Sam wasn't stupid—he'd get the message—except ...

There was a knock at the door, a little bit tentative and then Sam's clearly concerned, “Are you guys okay?”

“Fine,” Dean shouted, louder than he needed to, but he could see the knob turning and he couldn't remember if he'd locked the door or not. The last thing he needed was for Sam to walk in with him naked and Cas on his knees. Jesus. Dean would never live it down. As it was, Sam wasn't going to let him get away with this without some teasing, of that Dean was sure.

“You're sure?” Sam said, and this time Dean could tell he was trying not to laugh, the bastard.

“Yes,” Cas said, profoundly serious. “Go away, Sam. You're ruining the afterglow.”

There was a bark of laughter from the other side of the door, and Dean could hear Sam's footsteps getting softer as he walked away. Dean reached down and pulled Cas to his feet.

“Guess there's no discussion about whether we're going to tell Sam or not, huh?”

“No,” Cas said unapologetically, and kissed Dean again over the sound of his laughter.

THE END